Of She
by gategirl324
Summary: Numbness. Unseeing eyes and unhearing ears can lead only to one thing: danger.


The walls were the same. The floors and the ceilings were the same. The furniture, the paintings, the statues were all the same.

It all looked the same.

The people were all different. She was different.

This place, this home, was once warm and inviting. She had been happy being here. Home's doors were closed, and this place had gone cold and strange, hostile and frightening. She was miserable.

She couldn't look up. If she looked up, she would undoubtably see the chair. The chair that she and he had curled up in on more than one cold night. The chair that had held the two of them close as they held each other closer. The chair that had belonged to she and he. Their chair.

But now there was no more she and he. She was just a she. He was everything and so much more. He was all there was. All there was, without she.

So instead she stayed curled in on herself, rather than in he in their chair. She stayed far from the fire, and the inviting glow. She remembered how, in their chair, he had said her hair glowed in the firelight, that she glowed in the firelight.

Now the only light was in flames.

She stood suddenly, shocking her silent companions. She offered no explanation as to why she was striding forward, and they asked no questions. Everyone had their own affairs to handle. Everyone had their secrets. Everyone held their silence. Not a single one cared anymore.

She stepped through the portrait hole into a long, dark corridor. Her mind briefly registered that it was nearing curfew, she would have very little time to complete what she wished to do. Only...what did she want to do?

She wanted to get away. She wanted to escape, if only for a short time. She needed to physically escape before she was finally allowed the sweet bliss on mental escape into sleep. The escape was all the sweeter when dreamlessness was assured. And it was completely assured, at least for six to eight hours with slight side effects such as increased daydreams for ten to sixteen hours after first administration.

Her whole world was a daydream now.  
Was there such a thing as a day-nightmare?  
Perhaps that was what it was.

Daydreams were more pleasant, more pleasing, and certainly not painful. Daydreams were of spring and summer and lazy days by the lake with he, and of chairs. Daydreams were of he.

Daydreams were of an unlikely future, one she enjoyed entertaining. A future of imagining how she would plan out her own home, of where it would be, and what color the kitchen would be. The kitchen would be yellow. Yellow and possibly light blue. Like the clear sky with its' candy floss clouds, rather than the gray it was filled with now.

Daydreams were of her children. Children she would probably never have. She wondered whether they would look of she or he. Perhaps both. That would be best, she thought. But maybe one little boy to look of him. A little he.

As she daydreamed of her daydreams, she felt a large something collide with her. Something large and human-shaped. Something man-shaped.

She was so lost in her dream world of she and he, that she barely registered the ropes suddenly binding her tightly. She didn't realize that she was being taken down a long corridor and down flights upon flights of stairs.

It was only when she made contact with hard stone, moist stone, that she looked about to realize her current surroundings. Nothing remarkable, just a dungeon.  
In the time of she and he, she would have been on her feet, screeching, flailing, fighting tooth and nail to gain her freedom.  
However, without he, the time of she and he was over and done.

So upon the ground lay she, no words left her lips, even as she was torn roughly from the ground. It was her hair that had been torn first, her head following after. Her eyes didn't see her attacker, her ears didn't hear his sneering threats, her skin didn't feel his clammy touch.

Somewhere, deep down, the she from the time of she and he was screaming to be free. But that she was trying to race through molasses and maple syrup for as the ground she was gaining.

The she (post-she-and-he) was still wrapped in candy floss, numb from the world around her. She felt neither the stinging slap across her face nor the shoots of pain that resulted when her attacker spoke words that she did not hear.

She could barely hear someone screaming. Was it she?

Perhaps it was. She was wholly unconcerned with the fact that her body was tearing itself apart, writhing in agony. When her body stopped thrashing, she didn't hear or care that her attacker spat, "Filthy blood traitor," before turning and leaving her there.

Her thoughts were not of the fact that she had been taken and was currently bleeding out on a dungeon floor with no one who knew or cared where she was. Her thoughts were not of today, nor tomorrow, nor the day after that. Her thoughts were not of whether she would live to see tomorrow.

Her mind was back in the chair by the firelight.  
Her thoughts were of he.  
Of she and he.


End file.
